


Bend and Break

by Judgement



Series: Rift [3]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Familial Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Familicide, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Mild Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-29
Updated: 2020-09-29
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:53:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26709316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judgement/pseuds/Judgement
Summary: Their angry scream transforms into a pained one when your knife rips into them. It was a first for caster to ever fear themasterover the servant.
Relationships: Gilgamesh | Archer/Reader
Series: Rift [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1928569
Comments: 1
Kudos: 100





	Bend and Break

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark fic with references/implied killing of family members (but not _actually_ killing the real ones) as well as abuse. You have been warned.

You hated fighting casters, especially ones that either used illusion type magic or manipulated emotions. They weren’t common magics, but that’s what made them dangerous. Especially when the caster liked to utilize them both and had friends helping them distract Gilgamesh while they went for you.

In hindsight, it was a good plan. You could see Gil’s face when he whipped around to see the reality marble building around and swallowing you. The arrogance that bled into anger, making him see red. How dare they go after his master when he was their opponent? It was a goddamned insult, and he would not let it go.

But even as the Gate of Babylon ripped wide open, illuminating everything in gold, it was too slow. You were ripped away into the reality the caster had built specifically for you. And in hindsight it was a good plan, had they picked anybody else but you.

It wasn’t public knowledge that you and your family were estranged at best. They’d never been kind to you and while you weren’t exactly an unwanted or unplanned child, you may as well have been. For the way they treated you still left the bitter taste in your mouth. Anger so vivid, so scathingly hot that it roared to life in your veins when they appeared.

“What _are_ you?” There’s horror in her voice. 

The blood is hot on your hands and the adrenaline is a rush you had never felt. Maybe you’d snapped, you wouldn’t doubt it. But it felt so good it was almost cathartic when you ripped the knife from the back of a ‘family’ member of yours. Hysteria bubbled up, spilling over into a laugh. Your fingers trembled as you held onto the knife and tried to wipe the blood you felt on your chin. Only smearing more with what coated your hands. 

“It was a good plan,” you laugh as the hysteria builds in your veins, at the tears welling in your eyes and spilling over. Resentment so strong at the slow, disintegrating bodies that you’d just murdered to save yourself. Family who you had tried so goddamned hard to please. Ridiculous standards and restrictions that were, by design, made for you to fail. 

You hated your family, for everything they put you through. For the years it took to build yourself back up piece by broken piece. To try and love each shard of yourself as the jagged edges cut you. Because the love you’d learned wasn’t love at all and so, you gave the wrong kind of love to all the wrong people. You could not forgive them and you would never forget. But the thing about it all, the one thing you hated the most, was that you still cared.

You still wanted them to love you, to acknowledge what they did and to have a family. You still, in some sort of sick fashion, tried your best to please them. Even now when you’d cut most out of your life, you found yourself asking if they would be proud. You hated it.

“It really was a good plan,” you repeat, feeling like a broken record, “except I hate them. I hate all of them.”

Caster doesn’t miss the hysterical look that splits on your face as another family member of yours surges forward. Their angry scream transforms into a pained one when your knife rips into them. It was a first for caster to ever fear the _master_ over the servant. Always a first.

It doesn’t take long. You knew that Gil wouldn’t leave things as they were. So when Ea rips into the reality marble, separate pieces of its blade rotating and pulling apart to step his way in. His anger for a moment is replaced by surprise at what he sees. At the blood on your knife and on your hands, in your hair, on your face. But he doesn’t miss how your grip is white knuckled on the knife, the subtle way your shoulders shudder as you tried not to hyperventilate. 

He felt it in the bond, the rush of hysteria and adrenaline when it hit you. Prompting the immediate end of his battle with the other servant before he withdrew Ea and made his way into the marble. Curious to see what could ever draw such an emotion from you. Now he knew, and the anger was back. Ea’s pieces beginning to spin and the world within the marble warped, bending and twisting in opposite directions before it shattered beneath it. 

The blood you’d spilled was never real. What red that coated your hands and smeared your face disappeared with the world when it shattered. The knife you’d conjured with magic dissolved from your hand. You didn’t need to look back to know he was there. His warm hand on your shoulder draws your gaze and the look in his eyes darken when he sees the tears.

“Sorry, King.” Your voice is a broken whisper. 

His hand moves from your shoulder to the back of your head and tugs you closer. Hiding your face from the others and giving you privacy and comfort. You press your face into his shoulder and bite back a sob.

The rest feels like white noise. Gil doesn’t move, but the battle is somehow over and Ea is gone. His hands move to scoop you up into his arms instead and you argue you can walk. Trying to laugh off the fact you had been crying until you went numb. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t set you down. 

You’re home before you know it. Showered and dressed in a button up that’s too large for you but would fit him. He doesn’t ask what happened and he doesn’t mention how you’d suddenly clammed up; the tears running dry as the light disappears from your eyes. A numbing sensation he vaguely recognizes. Instead, he curls up on the couch with you tucked in between his legs and his chin rests on the top of your head. Something plays on the TV in front of you, a light-hearted movie of some sort. 

His arms are wrapped around you, his hands holding onto yours. It’s only then as you look down you realize your hands are squeezing his tightly. He was keeping you from clenching them tight into a white-knuckled grip.

“Sorry, King.” You say again, releasing the grip on his hands.

He grunts, shifting his head so he can press his forehead to the back of your neck. “I’m going to sleep, summarize the movie for me later.” 

“Summarize?” You echo his demand.

He doesn’t say anything else and instead you dumbly shift your gaze back to the screen. Why did he want a summary of a movie he likely didn’t care about? It confuses you more when he doesn’t actually go to sleep, but presses his chin to your shoulder, his gaze on the screen.

It’s half-way through when some tension eases from your shoulders and you relax into him that you get it. He didn’t want a summary; he wanted you to pay attention to this dumb, animated movie he picked and not the dark thoughts of what happened.

“Thank you.” You whisper.

There’s no smile on your face when he glances over. But there is relief in your voice, and he decides it’s good enough for now and presses his lips to your shoulder.


End file.
